It Begins
by venomistress
Summary: Just a little one-shot. A year or so before DMC 3, Vergil is searching for information about Sparda and the Demon Realm. *I don't follow the books, manga or anime. I think I have finished editing. Review with any issues.


**It Begins**

Light never reached the lower levels of the library. Despite the desperate glow of the florescent bulbs that hung from the ceiling – which were indeed the same wattage as the ones used to emit the blinding glare in the upper rooms – the bowels of the ancient building remained a barely lit labyrinth of towering shelves.

The semi-darkness did not phase the young man as his eyes scanned the the text of the book held near his face by his right hand. He sat almost casually in the high backed chair, one leg bent the other stretched out before him, back straight and head bent. His long blue coat spilled over the sides of the chair, piling in soft waves on the stone floor. A katana rested on his lap held in place by the boy's left hand in what could be considered a loving grip. In contrast to the boy's well groomed appearance, a single lock of silvery-white hair rebelled and curled itself defiantly toward his forehead.

It was the young man's intention to be the sole occupant of the lower room. Which he normally was as most people preferred to ignore the eerie portion of the building that repelled light. However, the boy knew he wasn't alone. Though he could not see his unwelcome guest, he could feel them nearby. Smell them even, with his heightened senses. Just as he had been able to the night before – and the night before that.

The first time, he had paid it no mind. Merely darted his eyes in their general direction as he left the library, catching nothing but the faint scent of some nostalgic fragrance on the breeze.

Last night, he had halted mid-step looking around him for the source of the odd presence. He saw nothing but the darkness of the night cityscape and the sensation faded forcing him to abandon his attempt and continue on his way.

But tonight, tonight he would meet the strange person. He knew this. Not because it was his intention, but because the other being was ready to be seen. Lowering his lids until his eyes were slits, the boy concentrated on hearing and smell to gauge the distance between himself and his visitor. Again he caught the fresh aroma of a soothing plant whose exact name and origin eluded him. He was also able to make out the scarcely audible footfalls of the person approaching him.

He listened, learning what he could. Soft, balanced steps with a harder impact at the fall. A small figure wearing boots with a slightly elevated heel. The timing of the steps were purposefully even. That told him his guest was in no hurry. He was also able to deduce that the person carried no weapon. And that the person was a woman. Women have their own way of walking. It's easy to recognize.

Vergil waited. He was curious, but he was cautious. With his left thumb he applied pressure to the protective flange at the base of Yamato's hilt, loosening the blade from it's sheath a quarter inch.

"It's a bit late to be reading scary stories, isn't is?" asked a sultry feminine voice.

Vergil slowly raised his eyes to meet the woman. He blinked once, the only physical inclination of surprise he gave to her appearance. Though her voice was that of a grown woman, she looked as if she had hardly achieved adulthood. Her body carried the curves of fresh development and her face still had the unlined softness of youth. But the smile etched on her coral lips betrayed all pretense of innocence.

Vergil took in her ageless beauty slowly, aware that she was watching him. The look in her amber colored eyes seemed to tell him to take his time. She was very patient.

Finally, Vergil managed to break whatever trance he was in and turned back to his book. He kept his grip on Yamato, but made no attempt to draw it.

"Ah," exclaimed the aged voice of the young woman. "The strong, silent type. I like that."

A bit perplexed and annoyed, Vergil's tone of voice was not kind. " Did you want something?"

"Just to introduce myself." She paused as if awaiting his permission to proceed. Vergil said nothing. "I'm Abigail."

"Very well," he replied coolly. "Now that your task is complete, you can leave me."

Abigail made no move to leave. She seemed amused by his request and chuckled softly. "And funny, too. You remind me of someone."

Vergil sighed loudly and looked back at Abigail. Her apparel of faded jeans and a burgundy tank top that fit snugly against her body suggested she would be more at home in a bar than a library. The type of girl who would more than likely run into a dimwitted party crazed man who just happened to bear a remarkable resemblance to Vergil.

"You have me confused with someone else," he told her.

Abigail's brow assumed a calculating arch. "Why would you think that?" she mused quietly.

Vergil noted not a hint of recognition or confusion on her face. "Who do I remind you of?"

The woman studied him. "Someone I met a very long time ago."

"Strange," he said, "how someone your age can speak that phrase so truthfully."

"Strange," she replied, "that someone like you could forget just how deceiving appearances can be."

Vergil gave his guest a slow grin then quickly rose to his feet. The book that had been in his right hand thudded to the floor as it was replaced by Yamato. The sharp edge of the katana rested menacingly against Abigail's throat. Her expression remained unchanged and Vergil felt an odd respect for her courage.

Abigail gave him a genuine smile. "You are one of Sparda's sons."

Vergil tilted his head and gave her his own sly smile. "Why would you think that?"

Abigail tapped a painted nail against the flat edge of Yamato. "I'm perceptive," she said. "Besides, you look just like him. Only younger."

Without taking his eyes from Abigail, Vergil removed his blade from between them and slide it back into it's sheath. Though he still didn't trust her, he couldn't deny his curiosity about Abigail. She, by some strange twist of fate, manged to possess the one thing he valued above all else: information about his father.

"What kind of demon are you?" he asked.

"I'm not a demon," she replied. "Not technically."

Confused, Vergil stated the obvious. "You're not human."

Abigail gave a slow shake of her head. The dark auburn hair that framed her pale face flowed with the movement.

"What are you?"

Abigail let the question hang in the silence. She looked at Vergil for a long time almost as if she were waiting for him to answer his own question. She frowned when he said nothing, then quickly reversed the expression into a smile.

"I think I'll let you solve that riddle on your own."

"Why?"

Abigail crossed her arms. "If I give you all the answers, you'll never learn anything."

Vergil took a step toward her. "And what is it you wish to teach me, Abigail?"

"I-" She stopped abruptly and gave him a stern glare. "You still haven't told me your name," she reminded him.

Vergil smiled. "I think I'll let you solve that riddle on your own."

Abigail laughed at having her words echoed back to her. "Sweety, if you want to play my game, then you have to play by the rules."

"What rules?" he asked somewhat flattered by her term of endearment.

"To get something, you have to give something. So, if I answer a question for you..."

"I have to answer one for you." Vergil finished.

Abigail nodded. "You catch on quick. So, since I have given you five answers-"

"Four," Vergil corrected. "Questions concerning the game or it's score do not count."

Abigail conceded his point, though she looked a little annoyed about it. "Okay, four then. You're behind either way."

"My name is Vergil. I am a son of Sparda. That leaves me behind by two."

"Three," Abigail corrected. Vergil narrowed his eyes at her. "I never asked if you were Sparda's son. Telling me something I already know doesn't count."

Vergil took advantage of the five inches of height he had on Abigail as he looked down at her, a smirk on his face. It was apparent that she was no stranger to manipulation and that she was used to getting what she wanted. Yet, he could be cunning as well. He may be willing to put up with a little irritation to discover what secrets were locked away in that pretty little head of hers, but he would not allow himself to be exploited.

"That doesn't seem fair."

"Fair?" she repeated matching his countenance. "If you want fair, then you owe me one more for attempting to decapitate me. I haven't considered harming you...yet."

Vergil felt no fear from Abigail's left handed threat, but - for the sake of inquisitiveness - he allowed his annoyance to wane. "I apologize for my rash behavior. We are back to three."

The aged youth gave him a look that – he guessed – conveyed surprise. Whether it was shock at his apology or the fact that he had opposed her rules in favor of his own, he was not sure. But he found himself liking the way that expression made her look.

"It's late," she said upon resuming her indifference. "I have somewhere to be. We can continue this game some other time."

Abigail began to walk away from him then stopped. Turning back she leaned on the end of a bookshelf and put a hand on her hip as her eyes raked Vergil's form until an embarrassed discomfort caused him to fidget. Abigail smiled as if in victory. "Don't forget, you still have to figure out my dirty little secret on your own, Vergil."

He felt a shiver up his spine. Hearing Abigail's sultry voice say his name seemed to give it a new meaning. As if it was not just a name by which he was called, but an embodiment of who he was. She was somehow able to express everything about him in one simple word. It was an incredibly personal feeling.

"See you around," Abigail called quietly as she turned and walked away.

Vergil went back to his chair, bending to retrieve the book that he had dropped. He sat down and opened to tome to the same page he had been on before the interruption and continued his reading.


End file.
